When I Land
by IseultLaBelle
Summary: What if Ethan gave Alicia the chance to tell him about Eddie that night at her house? Can he be what she needs? Current oneshot, potentially a two parter. Alicia/Ethan.
1. Chapter 1

_I promise you nothing, l take only that which is free,_

 _I'd give you a life full of risk, and the whirlwind of joy that can be._

 _Don't try to bind me, just love me without any greed,_

 _And I'll give you the world, and my heart, and the air that I breathe._

"Please stay, Ethan," she pleads, tears building in her eyes. "It was nothing with him, I didn't even mean to…"

She's trying to make him feel better. She's embarrassed; he's caught her off-guard and she doesn't know how to react, not after last night, he's messed her around and now he's upset her on top of everything else, why couldn't he just take the hint, for god's sake, he should have realised the moment Eddie offered to come round and check on her, should have just bowed out gracefully, allowed him the honour, she's probably wishing it were Eddie that had turned up on her doorstep tonight instead of him, frustrated, and he can't blame her.

"It's fine," he covers hurriedly, fights to keep the disappointment from his tone because that's the last thing she needs, he's caused her enough distress already. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

"No…" she tries, but he turns away, flushes, heads back out towards her front door hoping the ground might just swallow him up, or else he will awake on his sofa any moment now to find that this is all just a terrible embarrassing dream.

"He raped me."

Just like that, everything stops.

Her words don't quite register at first, and it's not just because her voice is so faint, barely more than a whisper, a frightened confession, scared, ashamed.

Ethan can't process it. He doesn't want to accept it, because this is Alicia… his Alicia whom he's neglected lately, it's true, but his Alicia still, and he knows her, she's strong, she's more than capable of looking after herself, this couldn't happen, not to her, it couldn't…

And yet, it could, of course, because if only life were that simple.

This is a crime from which no one is safe, however strongly they and their loved ones might desire to believe that they're protected, somehow, that they know how to handle themselves, that this could never happen to them because of a hundred thousand factors that seem to mean so much in theory, in reassurance, in blind naivety, but once it comes down to it, of course, that's all that they are. They are words, nothing more, words of empty meaning, because the horrible truth is that words alone and the confidence they might bring in those moments of safety, blissful ignorance, mean nothing in this world, not really.

She's Alicia. She's still his Alicia, nothing's changed, save for one thing.

She's his Alicia, however far he might have pushed her away over the last few months, and the painful truth is that she is far from as safely untouchable, invincible, as he believed until that moment.

This can happen to anyone.

This can happen to anyone, and it's happened to her.

And for goodness sake, Ethan tells himself as her bottom lip trembles, her eyes flood with tears and to his horror, before he's managed to process it all fully, pull himself together and work out what on earth he's supposed to do now, she's sobbing openly, distraught, as though just uttering those words has served as some kind of emotional release for her and the flood gates have opened, for goodness sake, she needs him to take control, do _something_ , anything, to help her.

"Alicia…"

He doesn't know what to say. In that moment he's absolutely no idea what to say, what to do, and her name falls off his tongue before he's even realised he's spoken it, instinctive, as though somehow he's deluded enough to believe just his uttering her name will somehow help her, hold her together.

It doesn't. If anything, to Ethan's horror, it only makes her cry harder, face blotchy, breath coming in gasps and then her knees buckle as unexpectedly as they did back in resus and she's falling, slumps down towards the floor and he dives to catch her, room spinning, slow motion, as though he's watching this nightmare unfold from afar.

"Alicia? Alicia, Alicia?" It's all he seems to be able to say as he catches her under her arms, pulls her up against his chest. No words seem enough, nothing seems to even come close to what he wants to tell her, and Ethan isn't entirely sure he knows what he wants to tell her anyhow, his head a mess of emotions that don't seem to lend themselves to linguistic expression, a fierce, protective instinct rising up within him, nameless, inexplicable, oh-so powerful.

"Alicia, it's alright. It's alright."

It's not alright, of course, and Ethan can't see how it's ever going to be alright again, but he desperately wants her to believe that maybe, just maybe, it can be.

Get her onto the sofa. Get her seated, slow her breathing down, keep her conscious… God knows the last thing she needs is to hyperventilate to the point of collapse, passing out, come to only to find herself vulnerable, exposed, at his mercy.

Ethan would never hurt her, couldn't even contemplate it, doesn't understand how anyone ever could, and his blood boils at the realisation that there's one man out there, one man he trusted, was all too happy to take under his wing only a few short hours ago, who has.

But Alicia won't be thinking like that.

Her defences will be up like never before, fight or flight well and truly underway, and it dawns on him as he lowers her down onto the sofa, as she hisses in pain through her tears, sharp, panicked, breath catching in her throat, that it's most likely taken everything she has left in her just to tell him, to force out those three simple words that have changed everything.

And to think, he almost walked out on her, slammed the door and didn't look back before she could.

"Alright, you're alright. Alicia. Alicia, breathe." He sits her on the sofa and she flops forward like a rag doll, head between her knees, hyperventilates.

"Alicia." His hands find hers; cold, clammy, as they were when he got her out of resus and he looked no further once he'd ruled out hyperthermia, shit, shit… "Alicia, listen. You're safe, darling. You're safe, I'm going to keep you safe. I promise. You're alright. Breathe. Just breathe, you're safe. You're safe, Alicia." He squeezes her hands gently, limp, lifeless in his, rubs his thumb across the backs of her fingers as slowly, tentatively, her breathing starts to slow.

He loosens his grip, reluctant to leave her, but she's trembling, and all of a sudden, it's dawned on him that her attire is completely out of character, can't quite get his head around the fact that he hasn't noticed before. She's dressed in the same clothes in which she turned up for work this morning, running kit, hair scraped back into a ponytail, not the faintest trace of makeup, no bag, nothing, as though she stumbled out of the house this morning barely aware of what she was doing, going through the motions, autopilot, desperately trying to function.

And the worst of it is she wasn't even doing a good job of it, not really, and still he didn't notice.

She's thrown on the first clothes she could find this morning and somehow dragged herself into work, he's sure of it. He doubts she's eaten, she's probably dehydrated, the crying won't be helping but she doesn't seem to be able to stop…

"Alicia. Alicia, listen. Alicia, I'm going to get you a glass of water, okay, I'm going to come back and then I'm going to go upstairs, find you a blanket, or something. I'm coming right back…"

"Not… my… room…" Her breath is coming in hiccups, frantic, pleads with him. "Not… please…"

Slowly, it sinks in.

"He… he was here?" Fury builds within him.

He's trying to clarify things in his head, to make sense of it all, work out what on earth he's supposed to do from here, but evidently, it's entirely the wrong thing to say because she sways alarmingly, and how she can even sway when she's already doubled over but somehow, she manages it, gasps for air.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He rubs her back as though she's a child, panics for a moment that he's doing the wrong thing altogether but suddenly she seems to settle, breathing slows, and Ethan hopes to a god he stopped believing in after Cal that she's through the worst of it. "It's alright. Breathe with me. You're safe now. It's over. You're alright. I'm going to get you some water, I'm going to find your spare room, get you a blanket, or something, whatever I can find, and we'll take it from there. Okay? You're alright, Alicia. You're alright."

Slowly, anxiously, she nods.

Ethan races up the stairs faster than he's managed before in his life, grabs the pile of blankets neatly folded at the end of the bed in the empty room, runs back down, fills a glass from the draining board, raids her ironing basket.

She's still when he returns. She's frighteningly so, slumped over, fingertips trail on the carpet, and for a moment he worries that she's passed out, before he takes in the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

She's handing over control, Ethan realises. She's exhausted, barely managed to hold herself together long enough to struggle through today, and now she's let him in and she's trusting him to carry her from here, too weak and pained and confused and traumatised to do it herself.

He should be flattered, touched, even, that after everything, after how he's treated her, still she trusts him.

Perhaps he should be flattered, and yet all he can feel is tremendous responsibility.

"Alicia? Alicia, listen. Can you sit up?"

No response.

"Okay. Okay, okay, I'm going to help you. I'm not going to hurt you, darling, I'm just going to help you sit up, it's alright." Gently, he grips her shoulders, guides her upwards, back against the sofa, rummages through the pile of blankets and clean clothes, no idea if he's doing the right thing or not but surely this is evidence, surely she hasn't showered the traces of her torment away, not when she's so otherwise bedraggled?

"Alicia, can you raise your arms for me?" He holds the clean jumper out in front of him as reassurance, wouldn't blame her if alarm bells are sounding, if this is a step too far whether she trusts him or not. But it isn't, apparently, and she obliges, child-like, numb, shakes violently, clammy, as her pulls off her running top.

It takes all of Ethan's self-restraint not to gasp.

Her ribs are littered with yellow, bruises in the early stages of formation, as though someone has gripped her, held her down, firm, no escape. She's tense, rabbit in the headlights, frozen in fear, too frightened to run, bloody indentations on her breasts, patterned, rounded, all-too-obvious, angry scratches reaching from her hip bones across her stomach that aren't so much so until to his horror her hands are there, fingertips dig as though it's a stress reaction, anxiety, maybe, he doesn't know, newly bloodied before he can stop her.

"Alicia." He catches her hands in his before she can do any more damage, squeezes, as though maybe, just maybe, he can transfer some of his energy into her, hold her together. "Hey, don't do that. It's alright. It's alright… you don't need to do that… come on, darling." Carefully, he raises her arms back above her head, pulls over the vest top, jumper, presses a cold glass of water into her hands, steadies them, doesn't trust her not to let it slip through her fingers, not when she's like this.

"Drink," he says softly. He's crouched in front of her, hands move with hers, raise the glass to her lips in unison. "It's alright. I'm here now," he tells her, though there's so much more he wants to tell her, so much she doesn't need to know just yet in so many words and yet she needs to feel it badly, needs to sense she's stuck with him, that they're doing this together, whatever happens next. "I'm here. You're safe now. You're safe."

 _Slip the jesses, my love,_

 _This hunter you own from the hood to the glove,_

 _When the circling and striking are done, and I land,_

 _Let me come back to your hand._

 _-Heather Dale, Hunter._

 **Today I have had one of those terrible anxiety days when nothing whatsoever happens to make you sad, but you just can't stop crying. So I tried to do something productive to take my mind off things. This was written in one sitting, over two hours, on and off watching episode 37 of the last series. It is very, very rough, but I kind of want to keep it that way, because that was really the point of writing this; I wanted it to be emotionally raw, and I don't think it's going to have that same effect if I go through and edit it.**

 **There is potentially going to be a part two; the inspiration for this piece was a really beautiful song called Hunter by Heather Dale, who you are probably sick of me recommending if you read Finding Avalon, but she has so many gorgeous unconventional love songs that are perfect for Alicia and Ethan. There is one more verse I haven't used here, so if you want and I can find the headspace again (which I probably can, it has not been the best couple of weeks!) I will happily write you a conclusion.**

 **I would LOVE your thoughts on this one, and by all means feel free to shout at me if it's too dark and angsty!**

 **-IseultLaBelle**


	2. Chapter 2

_I have no illusions to think that I know what will come,_

 _I laugh at the concept of life as a simple result of the sum,_

 _I just want to hold you, and share with you all of this life,_

 _With the stars in the darkness, and love in the light, and its dizzying height._

He guides her in through the staff entrance to the ED carefully, protectively, arms wrapped around her waist, supports her, dares anyone passing by to comment.

She hasn't protested, hasn't even spoken, since that brief, pained confession. She allowed him to calm her down, to help her change, watched numb as he gathered up her clothes into a discarded carrier bag, allowed herself to be led outside and into the passenger seat of his car as though no part of her cares where he's taking her, what might happen to her next.

It's as though she's given up, zoned out, as though she hasn't the emotional energy left to bother with any of that, as though already she feels as though irreparable damage has been done to her, that wherever Ethan plans to take her, whatever he plans to do with her, can't possibly be any worse, so what's the point of it all, why put up a fight?

That's what it's about. Ethan's sure of it.

It's frightening. Perhaps the most frightening part of this whole hell he's unknowingly walked into.

It's as though no part of her believes this is ever going to feel any better.

She's limping, Ethan realises. Perhaps it's only come on in the last couple of hours, aches and pains beginning to set in, or perhaps she's been like this all day and he's just failed to notice, too self-absorbed, convinced that her arriving into work this morning distracted, visibly upset, was all because of him… stupid… stupid…

The medical training in him screams to stop, to commandeer a wheelchair from one of the porters and ensure she doesn't have to stagger even one more step further, but he knows Alicia well enough to be certain that even in this state, there is just no way she's going to allow herself to be guided down into a wheelchair twice in the space of a few hours.

She tenses, as they approach reception. It's as though she's all of a sudden regained the faintest traces of her sense of self-worth, as though the realisation that she's allowed herself to be led into the ED, off duty, visibly shaken, undeniably so, now, is enough to startle her back into caring, just a little.

"I can't…" she whispers, helplessly. "I can't…"

"Okay. Okay, we don't have to do this the official way," Ethan decides, tightens his grip around her, thinks frantically.

He should have thought of this. He should have realised that even in her current state, the chances of her agreeing to register with Noel at reception, sit and wait in the waiting area, exposed, on show, were positively minute, should have planned ahead, come up with a strategy…

He thought about taking her to St James's instead. He really did. In some ways, it might have made things a little easier for her. But equally, he couldn't help but feel as though at least Holby is familiar, at least it's not unchartered territory, as though perhaps if someone she trusts takes it from here medically it might be a little less distressing.

The flip side of that, of course, is that bringing her into Holby means exposing her secret to whoever arrives to treat her, familiar, known…

Shit, he hasn't thought this through.

Or maybe he has, maybe that's better.

Ethan is well and truly out of his depth, drowning.

It's worse for Alicia. However much of a struggle this is for him, it's worse for Alicia; Alicia who clings to him like a child, pupils wide with shock, unsteady on her feet, cold, shaky, glances around her, rabbit in the headlights, one brief feel of her wrist confirming her heart is racing.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm sorry, I should have thought… I'm so sorry…"

He guides her off down the corridor before reception can catch sight of them, ushers her past the staffroom, the admin station, knocks hurriedly, urgently, on Mrs Beauchamp's office door, pushes it open before she has chance to respond.

He hasn't thought this through, not exactly, but he figures that Mrs Beauchamp is going to need to know anyway, that she of all people can be trusted to be discreet.

If nothing else, he needs to ensure Mrs Beauchamp knows, knows _now_ , so that she can ensure by the time Alicia's next shift comes around, Eddie McAllister is well and truly banished from the ED.

Is she even going to be in for her next shift?

Mrs Beauchamp looks up, irate. "Dr Hardy, I don't believe I gave you permission to…"

"Mrs Beauchamp," Ethan interrupts, then falters, conflicted, nervous and explosively furious and desperately worried all at once, and then Alicia trembles in his arms, cowers, ashamed, and suddenly there's a strength within him that he didn't know he had.

He has to do this.

Alicia needs him to do this, Alicia needs him to take control, fix this as best he can, for her, Alicia needs him to restore her faith in the male half of humanity, if nothing else.

"She needs a side room," he splutters, carefully shifts Alicia to stand in front of him, arms around her waist, ever conscious of that awful scattering of bruises inflicted by _him_ and cuts and scrapes she seems to have inflicted on herself in some sort of desperate coping mechanism, Alicia… "She needs a side room, she needs a consultant, a _femal_ e consultant, she needs discretion, someone needs to call the police…"

Alicia shakes her head frantically, desperate, as though embarrassed at all the fuss in front of her boss; it's different for her, Ethan realises all-too late, Alicia hasn't seen Mrs Beauchamp's softer side, not properly, doesn't know how she can pull through in a crisis.

He's dragged her into the ED, risked running into the very man who did this to her and now he's brought her in front of her boss in this state, dishevelled, vulnerable, most likely still in Mrs Beauchamp's bad books after she ran off to RTC earlier- and it all makes sense now, Ethan realises, it all makes sense, she and Eddie were working the same shift today, she wasn't being deliberately defiant, provocative, she was just completely desperate to get as far away from Eddie McAllister as possible, shit…

Mrs Beauchamp, to her credit, catches on remarkably quickly, springs to her feet, reaches out to place her hand on Alicia's shoulder.

"Alicia? What ha-"

Alicia flinches, involuntary, snatches herself away so violently that at first Ethan fears she's going to throw herself off balance, collapse like she did in resus before he can catch her, and then she seems to regain control a little, shaky as she is.

"Sorry," she whispers, cheeks flush, and only then does Ethan realise how horribly pale she is. "Sorry, I…"

Wide blue eyes, dilated pupils, plead with his helplessly.

It's clear she doesn't have it in her to say it all aloud again, even those three simple words.

"Dr McAllister…" Ethan's voice is shaking, anger surging through him he can hardly control, not when Alicia is like this, not when this is the aftermath, how could he, how could he dare…

"Dr McAllister needs to be banned from this department," he snarls angrily. "He needs to be struck off, he needs to be prevented from ever coming near Alicia again…"

"He came home with me last night," Alicia whispers faintly, closes her eyes, sways alarmingly. "He came home with me, I was drunk, I didn't… I didn't know he was in my bed, I didn't know, and then he… I told him, I didn't want… he just… he wouldn't stop…"

She's sobbing again now, fast approaching hysterical, breath coming in frantic, panicked gasps.

She needs him to make this better. She needs him to make this better and he doesn't have a clue, doesn't know how anything can possibly take this away, how she's still standing at all…

Is she ever going to be the same after this? Is it even possible?

He knows people do survive this, of course he does.

But looking at Alicia now, shaking, jumpy, traumatised, broken, Ethan can't quite see how she could ever be alright again.

"Alright," Mrs Beauchamp says gently, hand on Ethan's back, takes control. "Alright. Alicia? Alicia, listen."

Alicia recoils, blinks, eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.

"We're going to get you into a side room, sweetheart, okay? Room three's free, take her down to room three," she tells Ethan. "Give me a minute or so. I'll get everyone into resus two, I'll distract them, you can get her down into room three. I'll call the police, I'll come and join you in a few minutes, alright? Alicia? No one else needs to know, alright, I'll leave it off the board, I'll examine you…"

She's shaking her head furiously now, suddenly shifted from passive, zoned-out, to anxious, desperate. "I don't… I don't want…"

"Alicia? Alicia, look at me. Are you in pain?"

Shakily, eyes closed, she nods, surrenders again and he's holding her upright, taking the majority of her weight for her because there's no doubt in his mind she'll be in pieces on the floor in seconds, the moment he should let go.

"Then you need medical attention, don't you? Alicia? You don't have to make a statement to the police if you don't want to, we can talk about it later. I'm going to keep this between the three of us, alright? Only the three of us need to know. We'll make sure you're alright, and then we'll take it from there, okay? I'm not going to do anything you're not comfortable with. It's over now, sweetheart," she says gently, though her gaze flickers between the two of them, Alicia, shaking, pale, face blotchy, Ethan, overcome with emotion and fighting so hard to hide it. "It's all over now."

He staggers with her along the corridor to room three while Mrs Beauchamp has the rest of the ED her captive audience in resus, guides her down onto the hospital bed and she practically collapses; it's relief, Ethan realises absentmindedly, it's as though it's with relief, relief that the end is in sight, as though she can finally see the faintest glimmer of light at the end of the long, dark tunnel in which she's been trapped these last few hours, no need to hold herself together any longer.

She doesn't deserve this.

He should never have discarded her so carelessly for Leigh-Anne last night, she doesn't deserve this…

He hides out in Mrs Beauchamp's office while she's in room three with Alicia, and perhaps he shouldn't, perhaps he should have asked her permission, at least, but he can't face the staff room, the corridor outside, can't face the inevitable awkward questions as to why he's here, off-duty, eyes blood-shot and raging and tenderly caring all at once because how can he, because whatever happens next, wherever they all go from here, it has to be Alicia's decision and he can't take it out of her hands, can't be another male to storm into her life and strip away all her control.

This changes everything.

This changes everything, and it isn't about him, of course, it's about Alicia, but guilt and affection and fear and something inexplicable race through him in those moments he waits in Mrs Beauchamp's office, no concept of time, not properly.

He'll be whatever she needs, now. Now and forever. If she needs him to back off then that's what he'll do, but if she needs him to stay…

There's a gentle knock on the door, pulls him back to reality.

"Ethan?" Mrs Beauchamp says softly. "Ethan, she's asking for you."

He races along the corridor back to room three, stops, just for a moment, outside the door, heart pounding, almost afraid as to what he might find on the other side, Pandora's box wrenched open.

Alicia lies still, pale, exhausted, in the hospital bed, half upright, blinks, reaches out for his hand.

He's at her side in an instant, squeezes, so many things he wants to tell her in that moment and no idea how to put it all into words, but she knows.

He can see it in her eyes.

"Stay," she whispers.

It's all he needs.

 _Slip the jesses, my love,_

 _This hunter you own from the hood to the glove,_

 _When the circling and striking are done, and I land,_

 _Let me come back to your hand._


End file.
